


1 July

by mmmuse



Series: Six Months:  Journey to Love [1]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shift from master and servant to man and wife present challenges for Ross and Demelza Poldark during their first six months of marriage. Inspired by scenes from Poldark 2015, episode 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1 July

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of 10
> 
> This piece follows my previous works and may reference a bit or a bob from them (from time to time) but I think this series could be a standalone. That said, if you'd like to see what has come before, click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse) for my works. If there IS a piece to read before this, read [One Night.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/321026)
> 
> I am so very grateful to all of the folks who have given me kudos and comments on my previous work, and especially to those of you who encouraged me to continue dabbling in the realm of erotica. This piece will have it in abundance, the level of explicit content to vary as we progress on this journey together. I thank my long-suffering beta, [Sherylyn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherylyn/pseuds/Sherylyn), who has graciously betaed my work, even though her exposure to this universe has been through my _slightly_ manic obsession with it.

The sun was easing its way down into the Cornish sea when Ross crossed the creek at the edge of his land. He’d ridden hard to make it home before nightfall, despite his better judgment. The meetings he’d had in town had run longer than expected. As a result, his banker, Horace Pascoe, had graciously invited him to dine with his family and use of one their guest rooms for the night. And while he’d been tempted, greater temptations lay elsewhere. At Nampara.

It had been a week since Ross Poldark had married his kitchen maid, Demelza Carne. Life at Nampara Cottage continued apace, despite all of the dire warnings he’d received to the contrary. Admittedly, there had been some awkwardness during the first couple of days – Jud and Prudy’s behaviour and performance being chief amongst them – but he’d noticed a distinctive levelling-off of outright defiance. Small steps, yes, but progress.

He and Demelza had also begun to establish a rhythm to their life together as man and wife, although he suspected she’d had an easier time of it than he had done. He still found himself struggling with the two images of her that he envisioned in his mind, particularly when he’d come upon her during one of her “chores”. One of the things he’d noticed about himself, hindsight being what it was, was that he enjoyed watching her whilst she worked around the house.

Their _house. It was _their _house._

She would immerse herself into her task, whatever it may have been, and the pride she had in the task and its doing was palpable. It was at moments like this that he’d remember her from days past, with her “yes, sir’s”, her curtsies – wobbling and comical – and her shy, fleeting smiles, when things between them had been simpler. But then, in an instant, she would do something that brought the siren to the surface amidst all of the doing. It could be a simple glance through sooty lashes, eyes the colour of jade. It could be the quirk of a smile that raised the dimple in her cheek that he’d found he liked to taste with his tongue. It might be a stretch to reach something in the larder that brought her long, graceful torso into prominence. Perhaps the sweep of her hand along the back of her neck to lift her hair that would expose her nape. In those moments, the near constant need and desire for her would almost consume him. Ross Poldark was a man who needed to maintain control…and he found himself challenged to do so around her.

He marked it down to the newness of the thing. After all, they’d only been married a week. And in that week, he’d greatly enjoyed the privileges offered him within their marriage bed. And, he reasoned, once he’d had the opportunity to allow his desire to run its course, he would be more focused on his work.

Which was why he’d declined the offer of a bed in town, ridden his poor horse nearly into the ground over roads pocked with puddles from the afternoon’s rain in order to return to that bed. With her.

He entered the yard in front of the cottage at a near gallop and was forced to bring Darkie up hard. She whinnied her displeasure and tossed her head. Ross slid off her back and walked her into the barn, murmuring gentle, nonsensical words while stroking her broad nose. He gave her an extra-long currying as an apology for his misuse and secured her in her stall next to Demelza’s horse, Rose. He gave Rose a scratch under her forelock and smiled at her soft wicker of happiness at the gesture. _Extra feed for the ponies tonight_ , he thought to himself.

By the time he’d finished it was fully dark. The extra physical labour had given him an opportunity to quell the near-raging need for Demelza that had formed in his veins. Quell… but not for long. He looked at the soft lights flickering inside the cottage. She was still awake, he thought, and felt his loins begin to tighten once more. He adjusted the saddlebag over his shoulder and walked towards the house.

He moved through the outer hallway on the balls of his feet, hoping to surprise her, but found the parlour empty save the glowing fire in the hearth and the place setting on the table. A whisper of guilt crossed the back of his neck: she’d had supper ready for him. He flared his nostrils in the hopes of detecting what she’d had planned for him and thought he smelled rabbit stew.

He heard her singing in the kitchen and his shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. He was home. With her.

He tiptoed towards the door leading to the kitchen and spied her from around the corner. She was wearing one of her old dresses, apron around the narrow span of her waist, and kneading bread dough. Her hair was piled atop her head, errant curls escaping to trail along her neck and cheek. The light from the fire set the red-gold strands aglow and made her eyes sparkle. The tune she was humming was one of her favourites to sing when she kneaded dough. A tune from the days where she’d only been Demelza, his kitchen maid. And now, watching her fold and punch the bread dough, her body moving in time with her tune, stirred the need within him, blurring the line between the two even more.

He took his eyes off her for a moment, and in his mind pictured himself pulling the two images apart, the strands and ties straining, slippery between his fingers. He gave up, the need too great, and cleared his throat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Demelza started, her eyes flying towards the doorway where she’d heard his voice. “Sir!” she exclaimed, wincing as the word came from her. “R-ross,” she said, feeling the heat of embarrassment flare in her cheeks. She’d noticed she would call him ‘sir’ whenever he startled her. And, often, whenever she’d been recalling one of their times together, which made her a little breathless. For why _would_ she want to call him ‘sir’ when she was in his arms, under him, receiving him? She blinked the images away and smiled at him as he entered the room. He looked tired, a little travel-worn, dust on his face and mud on his boots. The latter irked her a small bit – she’d mopped the floors mere hours ago – but only a bit. She was happy he was home. “I was thinkin’ you might stop over in town.”

“I’ve a home, do I not?” he asked, then peered upwards as he set his saddlebag down on the bench. “And a wife?”

Her blush deepened and she returned her gaze to the bread. As she’d kneaded the dough, she’d been thinking of how the muscles of his chest felt under her hands as she’d ridden him on their wedding night, and tingled with remembrance. “I do sometimes forget—”

“—That I live here?” he interrupted. She glanced up at him. His hair was a wild tangle about his head, and his eyes glowed forest-green in the firelight.

She cast her eyes heavenward. It was hard to know when he was teasing her sometimes. This, thankfully, was not one of them. “—That I’m your wife!” she said, watching as he rose and walked around the bench and table towards her. He was wearing a charcoal grey waistcoat that fit his lean torso, its collar accentuating his strong jaw line. She hadn’t told him that she loved to see him in waistcoats yet. One day she would. But not yet.

“Well,” he said, his voice deepening and making her toes curl in her clogs, “let this be a reminder.” He came up behind her and spun her around, his hands on her hips, and pulled her in for a kiss. His full, sensuous lips lingered on hers once, then again, long enough to make her head spin. The hands slid to her tops of her hips, pulling her in tight against him. He broke their kiss, leaning down to look into her eyes. “Why are you up so late?”

“I’ve chores!” she said with a teasing, exasperated shrug, and smiled into his eyes. She noticed his eyes continued to flick towards her lips and she hoped he would kiss her once more.

“Suppose I have other plans for you,” he murmured, his hands flexing along her hips and waist. She could feel his erection, hard and insistent, pressing against the junction of her thighs and it made her yearn. Bread be damned.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice a near whisper. He didn’t respond, other than to broaden his smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire, leaving her to imagine all kinds of marvellous diversions she could enjoy in his company. She answered his knowing smile with one of her own and nodded. “Yes, Ross?”

He spun on his heel, clasping her hand in his and led her away from the room. She had to skip to keep up with him as he climbed the stairs two at a time. By the time they reached their bedchamber, Demelza had untied her apron and quickly dusted her hands free from flour before he turned to capture her face in his hands and bent to take her mouth. His kiss was hungry, the fulfilment of the promise made by his first kiss. His tongue tangled with hers while her hands slipped around his back to run along its firm lines and down to his buttocks. He leaned back, pressing urgent kisses along her cheek and down the column of her neck.

“R-ross,” she breathed into his ear. Her hands slid back up to clasp his shoulders as he nibbled along her collarbone. He leaned back, capturing her gaze with his as her fingers slipped around to his front to unbutton his waistcoat. “I’ve missed you.”

He leaned forward and pressed an urgent kiss on her lips. “And I you, Demelza,” he murmured, untying his cravat. “The hooks, please.”

She stopped unbuttoning the waistcoat to turn her attention on the hooks in the front of her dress. She gave a squeak of delight when she felt him behind her, hauling up the skirts of her dress to draw it over her head.

“Too many garments,” he whispered in her ear as he unlaced her stays. He tossed the corset aside and reached around her body to cup and massage her breasts. She shuddered heavily, the relief of freedom the loosening of the laces brought her at the end of each day amplified by the pleasure of having his hands releasing her from them. Her nipples tightened under his palms and she moaned, pressing her hips back against him and feeling him thrust against her.

She spun around, slipping her hands around his neck and drawing him down for a kiss, one filled with desperate need for him and found it answered. His hands slipped around her waist and down to her buttocks, lifting her up onto her toes. Her fingers tangled with his hair, tugging lightly, and she was rewarded by his shuddering groan against her mouth.

“Need you now,” he uttered, his hands releasing her. Demelza nodded and bent to help him out of his boots. He halted her descent, hands grasping her by the elbows. His eyes met hers and she found them black with desire. “No time, Demelza, I’m sorry.”

She nodded again, remembering their first day apart after their marriage when he’d found her in the barn and they’d taken one another in the haystack. Her fingers flew to the drop front of his breeches as they made their way from the fireplace. The placard felt open as the backs of her knees struck the side of bed and they tumbled onto it. Her hands dragged her shift up her thighs and she heard the fabric rip and give way to expose her throbbing, weeping core to his erection.

He thrust heavily into her, filling her up to his root with one stroke. Demelza’s throaty moan was echoed with his own as he set their rhythm, each thrust shifting them further up onto the bed. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist and she circled her hips in a counterpoint to his thrusts. His right hand slid down to grasp her hip and hold her still. “Need you, Demelza, too much,” he whispered, guttural and savage. “Will have you.”

“I’m yours, Ross,” she all but sobbed in his ear. He pounded into her, the intensity new and somewhat frightening to her, yet it intensified her own need for him tenfold. “I live for you, Ross.”

His eyes, unseeing at first, caught hers in that moment, and she knew he was at his end. She watched as his climax washed over him, the slackened jaw, the way he bared his teeth, nearly anguished with the pleasure. His hips thrust against hers once, twice, as he emptied himself into her before his body collapsed atop hers. She listened to the rasp of his breath near her ear, smoothing her hands up and down his back as his breathing slowed back to normal...

 

 

“I’m sorry, Demelza,” he whispered, propping himself on his elbows to look down at her.

She’d shuddered on the edge of her own release, bereft as the need lost its sharpness. “It’s all right, Ross,” she said, stroking his cheek and giving him a squeeze around his waist with her legs. She could feel his body softening, leaving hers, and shifted her legs to allow him to slip off of her.

He gathered her to him and held her, spoon fashioned, against his chest. “I found myself thinking of you all day today, and I simply needed to be with you,” he murmured, “be inside you. Please, let me.” His hand trailed down her ruined shift to touch her between her legs. Slick with his seed and her own arousal, his fingers slipped in and found her bud, swollen and aching for his touch. Demelza moaned, her need flaring to life once more, and she rocked against his hand, her nails biting into his arm, until she came, hard, shuddering and gasping until the room spun in her mind.

Several moments later, they both became aware of their surroundings. Ross, still mostly dressed, his muddy boots now marking the bedclothes. Demelza’s shift was torn, her stockings still on and a clog still covering her right foot. They looked at one another and laughed. Laughed hard enough for tears to come to Demelza’s eyes. She wiped at them gaily, and rose up on one elbow to peer down at her husband, who’d covered his face with his hands and was practically hooting with mirth. Her heart was swollen with love for this man, so much that she hadn’t the words to describe it. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled against his chest.

“Other plans for me, sir?” she whispered into his ear.

“Well, maybe not ‘plans’, per se.” He raised one of his hands and looked at her, his eyes hazel-green with mischief. “More along the line of ‘ideas’.”

She leaned up, crossing her arms across his chest and propping her chin on her hands. The fingers of her left hand slipped under his open shirtfront to toy with the flat nipple beneath, tickling it until it rose up hard and insistent under her touch. “I like your ideas, Ross.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think -- those of you who have followed my work know I respond to all comments (sometimes TOO much *grin*). 
> 
> This will be a ten part series, so rather than completely burn Sherry out, I invite you to contact me if you are interested in working with me as a beta reader. I ask that you have experience with the task, have a very firm grasp on grammar and aren't afraid to challenge me on things. I may push back, but chances are your fresh eyes will bring great value to the work. Contact me by DM on [twitter @mmmusings](https://twitter.com/mmmusings) or on [tumblr at mmmuse]() and clicking "ask me anything". Thanks!


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